


The Life and Death of Jacob Anderson

by lookninjas



Category: Glee
Genre: Character Death, Fights, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2018-05-23 02:56:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6102507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookninjas/pseuds/lookninjas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Blaine's grandfather finally decides that it's time to move on, he leaves everyone else behind to deal with what happens next.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Life and Death of Jacob Anderson

**Author's Note:**

> Title is a takeoff of LOST's "The Life and Death of Jeremy Bentham." Lyrics in one section are from [Two of Us](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UCie0pXZv2Q) by the Beatles (although I was imagining the arrangement being something more like the Aimee Mann/Michael Penn version).

1\. Katie

This is the fourth time in two months.

After the first time, Dad explained that he was trying to get Mom used to the idea of leaving the house. That Katie had been so insistent that she and Mom had to be home with Dad (and Dad's illness) as much as possible that it'd seem suspicious for her to suddenly want to leave Dad alone. That if she did talk Mom into going, and then Dad was dead when they got back... Well, it wouldn't look good, even to Mom. And yes, it made sense. It was very logical. It was, all things being considered, a good idea.

But that didn't explain why he hadn't _warned_ her. It didn't explain why she'd had to suffer through the entire day believing that her father would be dead when she got home, that she would never see him again, that they'd never... It didn't explain why he'd put her through all of that hell for _nothing_.

Of course, Dad had never needed a reason for that.

Even Ben had said as much, in his own quiet way. He hadn't said it straight out, of course; that was never Ben's style. But after she'd sobbed the whole story out to him over the phone, told him how _hard_ it had been to just to leave the house, how much it had hurt to watch her mother carefree and happy and to think _she's going to hate me for this, when she knows, when she figures it out_ , how terrified she'd been when she pulled into the driveway; after Ben had told her that he was sorry, that he was so sorry, that he was _so, so sorry, Katie_... After all of that, he'd sighed and said, a little bitterly, "But I suppose we should be glad that his sense of humor is still intact," and Katie had actually laughed at that, laughed until she started crying again, and Ben could do nothing but apologize some more even though nothing was his fault.

That was the first time.

This is the fourth.

She supposes she should be skeptical by now, that she shouldn't be feeling this kind of dread before she's even left the house, that she should expect him to still be here when she gets home in six hours. But she doesn't. She can't. Because he's losing his words more and more these days; his balance is shot and his short-term memory is vanishing and last week, he couldn't remember her name and got so frustrated by it that he knocked the whole end table over, smashing a lamp and scattering books, and all Mom could say was "Oh, dear. Katie, would you get the broom please?" and even then, Dad hadn't cottoned on to the idea that _that_ was her name, that she was _Katie_. Because this is it; this is the time when he has to decide whether to take his own life or let the disease take it for him. And Katie knows her dad too well to think that he'd ever let some damn disease get the better of him.

Maybe it won't be this time; maybe it'll be the next, or the time after that. But she's pretty sure that it won't be. She's pretty sure that this is it.

So when it's time for her to leave, when Mom is already halfway down the driveway, she turns back to her father. He's watching her; his face tells her nothing. And maybe it won't be this time; maybe it'll be next time, or the time after that. But she's not going to take any chances. She goes back to Dad, where he's sitting in his favorite chair, and she kisses him on the cheek so he'll have something to carry with him. He doesn't acknowledge it; doesn't so much as move as Katie pulls back. "Bye, Dad," she whispers.

He grunts at her. "Your mom's waiting," he says. "Better get a move on."

Katie takes a deep breath and lets the dread settle in one more time. "Okay," she says. "Bye."

And then she leaves the house, locking the door behind her, and heads for the car, already wondering what it will feel like to walk back into that house in six hours and find her father dead.

 

2\. Carole

 

Actually, it's going pretty well so far.

She's still not entirely comfortable with having other parents over at the house, a holdover from the days before Burt, when she and Finn were just scraping by in that cheap rental with the ugly wallpaper and the never-finished basement and the ants that kept coming back no matter how many times the landlord sent exterminators over. This house is much nicer, large and open and beautiful, and Kurt's skillful touch with the decorating helps so much. Still, though, Blaine's parents are _Dalton_ parents; to Carole, that means money. And after years spent as a single parent, just barely scraping by, she can't help but feel faintly inadequate in comparison, can't help but feel that the Andersons are judging her and her home, and finding both wanting.

But if they are, they're hiding it extremely well.

Ben seems a little... looser than he was that day at the theme park, more comfortable, less shy. He lets Burt draw him into conversation -- cars, mostly; apparently he used to help Blaine's grandfather with an old Chevy that he had, and then later rebuilt another old car with Blaine. It's obvious that neither experience left him knowledgeable enough to really keep up with Burt when he's on a roll, but he does his best, and Blaine is there to help him, showing off pictures and talking about alternators and carburetors and how hard it was to get the paint job done just so. Ben's wife, Miranda, doesn't seem to be interested in cars; she drifts in and out of the conversation, with periodic breaks to let Finn talk about football and McKinley's chances of getting another conference victory this year, or to let Kurt lead her around the house and show off his decorating skills, or to drift into the kitchen and chop carrots and onions for Carole while explaining that she's not really much of a cook, although she does her best. That Ben is better, but he doesn't always have the time for it, so she does what she can. It's a little strange, perhaps, but she seems charming enough, and it's obvious from the way she keeps gravitating back to Ben's side that she loves her husband dearly. Carole can appreciate that.

Overall, it's going well; the conversation at the dinner table is lively, and all three Andersons go out of their way to compliment Carole's cooking, and the house, and the hospitality in general. Finn doesn't talk with his mouth full (or at least, not nearly as much as usual, and Kurt discreetly elbows him when he does, instead of just shouting), and Burt's elbows stay off the table, and Carole is starting to finally relax and just enjoy the moment when there's a quiet buzzing coming from somewhere in the vicinity of Ben's pockets.

"Sorry," Ben says, a little sheepishly, setting his fork down to dig into his pocket and pull out his phone. "I'll just --" And the moment he looks at the screen is the moment that everything changes; the temperature of the entire room drops as Ben goes pale, swallows hard, and pushes away from the table with quick, jerky movements, like he can't quite make his limbs work. "Excuse me," he says, his voice a little absent, a little distant. "I need to take this."

And without another word, he makes his way into the kitchen, phone pressed to his ear. Carole hears him say one word, a name: "Katie --" before he vanishes entirely.

The table is silent for a few seconds. Blaine stares at the entrance to the kitchen, then turns to his mother. There's something strangely beseeching in his eyes. "Mom?" he asks. He sounds like he's about to cry.

Miranda's lips thin out a little, but when she speaks, her voice is gentle. "Go be with your father, Blaine. He'll... He'll want you with him."

Blaine bites his lip, like he's afraid. "But what if he --"

"Trust me," she says. "He needs you right now. Take care of him for me?"

"Yeah," Blaine says, standing up. "Yeah. Okay." He looks to Kurt just once; Kurt's eyes are sorrowful, and although Carole has no idea what's happening right now, it's obvious that Kurt does. But he gives Blaine a small, encouraging smile, and Blaine almost smiles back at him for a second before he turns to follow his father.

Burt and Carole and Finn are left blinking, even as Kurt looks across the table at Miranda and asks, "It's Blaine's grandfather, isn't it? He's --"

Miranda nods. "There've been some false alarms lately, but... yes." Her eyes drift back to the open entranceway to the kitchen. "I think this is it, this time. He's gone."

Finn's face falls a little bit; Burt frowns. "I'm so sorry," Carole says, because it's all she could think of to say. "You should have said... If we'd known, we wouldn't have --"

"It's not what you think," Miranda says, shaking her head. She's smiling, a little, but it's strange and hard and forced; Carole doesn't know her well, but if anything, she'd say the woman was furious rather than sad. "We didn't know when it was going to be, exactly, we just... Ben's father has Alzheimer's. _Had_ Alzheimer's, I should say. It wasn't especially severe -- it certainly wouldn't have been enough to kill him, but it was... it was getting worse. Bad enough that, when Ben and Blaine went down to Arizona for his birthday, he told them that he would be dead before Thanksgiving."

"But if he wasn't that sick," Finn says, looking perplexed. "Then how come he knew --"

"Because he was going to kill himself, Finn," Kurt snaps, his voice a little sharp, and Carole's stomach lurches uncomfortably. Because these things happen -- she's been a nurse long enough to know that much. But for the family to know that, for them to have to live with it... "He knew he was going to die because he'd already planned it all out in advance."

Burt's frown deepens. "And then he told Ben and Blaine," he says, scowling. "And they just... what, they just _let_ him --"

"Burt," Carole says, a little shocked at how angry he sounds, but of course he's thinking of Elizabeth, of how much he would have given for one more day with her. And she understands that, she does, but she also understands that it's not the same thing, that this is different. "It's his life. It's his choice."

"You never met him, Mr. Hummel," Miranda adds, and that bitterness, that anger, is still deep in her voice. Carole has to wonder just what Ben's father must have been like, to make Ben's wife carry such a grudge against him. "He wasn't... It was his choice. And he made it. And no one in his family could have changed his mind, no matter how hard they tried. Believe me, if Ben had thought for a second that he could..." She shakes her head. "But he couldn't, and that was that."

The table is quiet for a few moments; in the silence, Carole can hear Blaine say, very quietly, " _Dad_ \--" and it just breaks her heart.

Burt stares down at his plate, then finally looks up at Miranda. "I'm sorry," he says. "For jumping the gun. I just --"

"It's all right," Miranda says, her face softening. It looks like it costs her a little to do it, like there's still a deep well of anger in her, but Carole feels relatively confident that most of that anger is for someone else, and not for Burt at all. "It's not... It's an unusual situation. Just know that... Ben loved his father. Deeply. This was never something he wanted to happen."

Carole reaches across the table to pat Miranda's hand; she seems a little surprised at the gesture, but she doesn't pull away. "If there's anything we can do," she offers. "Anything at all."

"Thank you," Miranda says. "That's very... Thank you." She takes a deep breath, then adds, "Don't be particularly surprised if Ben doesn't want to leave right away. It might be... It might be comforting for him. To be around friendly faces. And of course, once we go home, it's..."

Burt locks eyes with Carole, and she nods. They've both done it, the planning, the arrangements. All those small things -- notifying friends and family, choosing the casket, arranging for the stone and the engraving... There's so much to be done, always more than you expect there to be. "Stay as long as you want," Burt says. "Really, it's all right."

Finn nods. "You can stay in my room, if you want," he says. "I'll take the couch, and Blaine can share with Kurt. Or Kurt can take the couch, or... One of us can take the couch, if you want."

Miranda actually manages to smile at that, a smile that touches her eyes and softens her, even if only for a moment. "I don't think we'll stay that long," she replies. "But thank you for the offer. That's very kind of you."

Kurt doesn't say anything; his eyes keep drifting back to the kitchen, where Ben and Blaine are talking too quietly for Carole to make out the words. He looks downright miserable, and Carole wishes she had a moment to pull him close and soothe him, because this can't have been easy for him, either. She's glad that Blaine had someone to talk to; she's glad that he had someone to share the secret with; and she's very, very glad that that someone was Kurt, because even if Kurt can fly off the handle at small, ridiculous things, he's always steady as a rock when it comes to the big stuff. But it can't have been easy for him, knowing what he knew, and it obviously isn't easy for him to sit here now, helpless.

"Anything at all," Carole repeats, and Burt's hand falls on her knee underneath the table, and gives it a gentle squeeze.

Ben and Blaine stay in the kitchen for a long time.

 

3\. Kurt

 

He's not entirely surprised that Blaine doesn't show up for AP Lit, but then again he is, a little bit. Because for all Kurt's been trying to tell him that this isn't Dalton, that it's okay if he skips a class or a day or even a week if he has to, Blaine just says that he needs this, that he needs to be normal. And it's not like Kurt can really argue with that -- he didn't even skip that much when his _dad_ was in the hospital, because he needed to be normal, too. He gets why Blaine would want to keep showing up at school.

And up until this morning, he has been. So if he's not in class --

Kurt worries about him for ten minutes, then decides he's better off taking his own advice; he tells Mrs. Henderson that he needs to go to the bathroom, then sets off in search of his boyfriend.

His first stop really _is_ the bathroom -- well, kind of. There's a girls' bathroom ideally situated between Blaine's locker and Mrs. Henderson's classroom; it's the obvious place to for Blaine to go if he got slushied on his way to class and needed to clean up, and... well, it's not like that isn't a large part of what being _normal_ is for him, these days. But he's not there; he's not at his locker, either. Kurt risks a quick detour past Miss Pillsbury's office because you never know, but she's giggling about something with Mr. Schuester, and Blaine is nowhere in sight. That leaves the library (unlikely), Blaine's car (possible, but he would have texted Kurt if he was _that_ upset, surely), and...

Choir room. Of course.

Sure enough, when Kurt within's earshot of the choir room, he can hear someone idly plunking at the piano keys, picking out a few bars of something sad, then giving up. He slips through the doorway, and there's Blaine, slumped over the keys, his head hanging low. It tugs at Kurt, the way it always does; Blaine might be Mr. Mature and Poised most of the time, but he's always so _young_ when he's sad. It makes Kurt want to fix things, even when he knows there's nothing he can do. "Hey," he says, and Blaine startles a little bit, but doesn't look up. "You're missing out on the most educational class ever, you know. Mrs. Henderson is finally talking about that one time she almost joined a convent. I'm not totally sure what that has to do with the _Canterbury Tales_ , but..."

"Oh my God," Blaine says, finally looking up; his eyes are red-rimmed, wide with panic. "Oh my God, I must've... Because I have that free period before AP Lit, so I came here, and I guess I lost track of time, and I --" He starts to stand up; Kurt crosses quickly over to the piano bench and pushes him back down again.

" _Blaine_ ," he says, settling down on the bench next to him to keep him in place. "Don't worry about it. You're fine." Then he takes a closer look at Blaine, at the way his eyes are red and his nose is a little pink and his hair is already starting to come unglued, and corrects himself. "You're _not_ fine. Why aren't you fine, Blaine?"

Blaine shakes his head, and goes back to staring at the keys of the piano. "It's nothing. It's stupid."

Kurt shifts a little closer, glancing at the open door before deciding that consoling his boyfriend is _definitely_ worth the slushie facial and resting his hand on Blaine's leg, just above his knee. "Tell me anyway."

"I just..." Blaine blows out a slow, deep breath and covers Kurt's hand with his. "They're flying Grandpa out today. So he'll be here for the funeral and... and everything. And I was talking to Aunt Katie a little bit, last night, and she said it'd mean a lot to her if I sang something at the funeral, because she's never... I mean, she never got to hear me with the Warblers, or anything, and I want to, I _do_ , but I don't know what to sing, or if I even... Because I know Grandpa didn't really... he wasn't interested in music, and he used to say that the Warblers... that it sounded like... that it was a..."

Whatever Blaine's grandfather thought of the Warblers, it's bad enough that Blaine can't even finish the sentence, and for the first and perhaps only time in his life, Kurt Hummel desperately wants to bring someone back from the dead just so he can punch them in the face.

"Blaine," he says, trying to keep his voice level. "Your grandfather's not going to be there. I mean, he is, but he's not..." He shakes his head. "You know what I mean. And your aunt is going to be there. So worry about what she wants. Not about him."

Blaine chews on his lower lip, nervously, and gives Kurt a little, sidelong glance. "And I guess I was thinking... Because my aunt really likes the Beatles; they're like her favorite ever. And you were amazing on 'Blackbird,' and I know it's weird and you can say no if you want to; it's fine, but..." He swallows hard and stares down at their joined hands. "But I don't think I can do this alone, Kurt."

Kurt squeezes Blaine's hand, and for the first time since Blaine's dad got that phone call, he feels okay. Because he can't fix things for Blaine's family. He can't make it hurt any less. But picking out a song for him and Blaine to sing at the funeral? Yeah, he can totally do that. "You don't have to," he says, and the relief on Blaine's face makes Kurt pull him close, and to hell with whoever might see them. "I'm right here, Blaine."

"I know," Blaine says, and then "Thank you," and he buries his face in Kurt's shoulder, and Kurt just wraps him up and holds on as tight as he can, because that's something else he can do. And he is going to do everything he can for Blaine.

 

4\. Finn

 

He never thought that being part of glee club would involve going to so many funerals, but he guesses it does, because here he is. And he wouldn't be here if it wasn't for Kurt, and he wouldn't be Kurt's brother if it weren't for glee club, so he's pretty sure that that's why he's here, in the end. Because of glee club.

It's weird, though; it's not like Jean's funeral. And not just because there's no chocolate fountain, although there isn't one. It's just... For all that Kurt said that funerals are about the living, and not about the dead, Jean's funeral was pretty much about her, in the end. The decorations were all things that she liked, and everyone who talked was talking about her, and the song they sang was her favorite song from her favorite movie. Finn never met Jean, but he felt like he kind of knew her by the time that the service was over. Every second of it was about _her_.

But this funeral doesn't seem like it's about anyone, really. It's just a funeral; there's a closed casket at one end of the room and a lot of people in dark clothes sitting in the pews and a flower arrangement up by the lectern, and that's it. It doesn't tell him anything about Blaine's grandfather, apart from that he's dead. And, hello, Finn kind of _knew_ that already. More than that, he knows _how_ he died, and he's pretty sure that most of the people in the room don't. Or if they do know, then no one's talking about it.

Honestly, though, no one's really talking about Blaine's grandfather at all. It's like no one even knew him.

But then Blaine's dad is standing up and heading to the lectern, with Blaine right next to him, and it's weird, because Blaine's dad looks so calm and Blaine looks so worried, but almost as soon as Blaine's dad goes to speak, his voice cracks and Blaine has to reach out, rest a hand on his back to soothe him. "When my son was born --" Blaine's father says, and chokes a little, pushing his glasses up his nose and straightening the piece of paper that he's written his speech out on. Kurt makes a soft, sort of miserable noise, and Finn touches his shoulder, a little surprised that Kurt doesn't push him away. Next to him, Finn's mom and Kurt's dad are holding hands and looking sorrowful, and it's kind of weird that everyone's so sad, considering that this is basically a funeral for a stranger. But again, Blaine's dad isn't really a stranger now, and Blaine _definitely_ isn't, and this is the part of the funeral that _is_ about them. So.

"This... This might come as some surprise to those of you who know me only through Intro to Number Theory," Blaine's dad says, trying again, and this time he's not looking at his notes but out at everyone else in the pews, "but I've always been sort of the... The emotional one, in my family. Although to be fair, I can get somewhat emotional when it comes to Cauchy's integral formula, so maybe some of you already knew that about me." Scattered laughter comes from the back; Finn's not sure what was so funny, but he smiles anyway, because he feels like he should. "Anyway, I am an emotional person, and the... The day that my son was born was a very... It was very emotional for me."

Blaine's dad slips his arm around Blaine's waist; Blaine leans into him. Kurt makes another little sound, and Finn squeezes Kurt's shoulder.

"When I..." Blaine's dad takes a deep breath, straightening his glasses like he's nervous. "When I called my parents, to tell them, my father was the first person that I spoke to. At that point, it was... It had begun to sink in, that I was going to be a father, that I had a _son_ , and I... I was crying, a little bit. Because it was all very... And of course, my father, hearing me cry and knowing that we had gone in to the hospital that morning, asked me what was wrong. I told him that nothing was, that the baby had been born and that I had a son, and he asked me... Because he was a doctor, of course, he asked after Blaine's health, and Miranda's, and I told him that they were both fine, that nothing was wrong, that I was just... Very relieved. And very, very happy.

"And then there was a pause, and I think he thought about it for a moment, and then he said to me, 'Benjamin, that is the dumbest thing I have ever heard.' And he told me that he wouldn't let me talk to my mother until I'd calmed down some, because he didn't want her to think the baby was dead."

The room is quiet; Finn can hear everyone's clothes rustling. Next to him, Kurt shifts in his seat, uncomfortable.

"My father was never much of one for big displays of emotion," Blaine's dad says. "Not for joy, not for grief... He kept it inside. And I think that he preferred for the rest of the family to keep it inside as well. Not that he would have ever... But I don't think that he'd appreciate me crying now, any more than he appreciated me crying when Blaine was born. But it's hard; he was my father, and I..." He chokes off again, and Blaine pulls him closer, rests his head on his father's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Dad," Blaine's father says, glancing up at the ceiling like his father's hovering there. "I just... I just can't. I hope you'll forgive me for that."

He and Blaine cling to each other for a few seconds, and then Blaine's leading his father back down towards the front row of pews, and Kurt's standing up, and Finn realizes that Mr. Anderson's eulogy is over. That it's time for them to sing now. And for just a second, he's not sure how he's going to do it. It was easy to sing for Jean. He _knew_ Jean. Jean was special. He still doesn't really know anything about Blaine's grandfather, apart from that he kind of sounds like a dick.

But he falls into place with the rest of the group (there's not many of them; a handful of Warblers, two guys from Blaine's summer show at King's Island, and then Kurt and Finn), and waits for Blaine to come back and join them, waits for him to take his spot next to Kurt so they can start singing, and he figures the best thing he can do right now is just to sing to Blaine. Even if it's kind of more like he's singing to the back of Blaine's head, and then also occasionally looking up at Blaine's dad (holding hands with Blaine's mother in the front row, obviously trying not to cry even though he just said he was going to). At least Blaine can hear him; at least Blaine knows he's there. Which is more than he can say for the guy in the coffin.

So he sings to the people he knows, and for the people he loves, and tries not to worry about Blaine's grandfather so much.

 

5\. Miranda

 

She forgets, sometimes, how much of her wound up in Blaine.

What's amazing to her about this moment is how subtly he's played it. Anyone who didn't know them would think it just a loving tribute from grandson to grandfather. They wouldn't have a clue that Jacob would have hated this more than anything; they wouldn't know what Jacob had said about Blaine's private school and Blaine's private school friends and Blaine's private school glee club. They wouldn't realize that Blaine's shoulder brushing against Kurt's, Blaine's eyes meeting his boyfriend's, Blaine's hand reaching out and Kurt's hand reaching back would have made Jacob's eyes narrow and his jaw clench. They wouldn't even know that Jacob hated the Beatles; that no matter who Blaine had chosen to sing this song with, Jacob's face would have crumpled with disgust.

But Blaine knows what he's doing. It is the subtlest, stealthiest _fuck you_ that Miranda has ever had the privilege to witness. That he's doing it at Jacob's funeral, of all places, makes her perversely proud.

His eyes meet hers, just for a second, and she smiles at him, squeezing Ben's hand where it rests on the pew between them. Blaine gives her what might almost be a smile back, and his fingers twine with Kurt's, their voices rising together, and it's beautiful and defiant in a way that no one else will ever understand.

_Two of us wearing raincoats,_  
Standing solo  
In the sun... 

"Oh my God, Dad would have _hated_ this," Katie whispers from Ben's left, a little scandalized and a little delighted all at once, and Miranda squeezes her husband's hand again.

_Then it's a good thing he isn't here_. She almost wants to say it, but she knows it would hurt the wrong person, and she doesn't want to do that. Instead, she clears her throat, and says nothing at all, lets Blaine and Kurt say it all for her, their voices ringing out pure and true in the otherwise silent room.

 

6\. Burt

 

"That the original paint?" he asks, wishing he had a baseball cap to push off his face, old jeans that he could wipe his hands off on, a rag shoved in his back pocket. He's just not himself in a suit, has to stand differently, his movements restricted. It's awkward. He hates awkward.

"God, no," Ben says, rocking back on his heels. He doesn't look comfortable either, keeps trying to roll his sleeves up and then realizing that he can't. It's a small comfort, but it's a comfort all the same. "No, she'd probably been repainted a dozen times before we got her. I'm not sure what the last owners were going for when they had her redone, but it was..." He wrinkles his nose.

"Pink?" Burt asks, because he sees that a lot in 50s era cars. Always gotta be pink, with a white top, even if the car never would've come in that color back when it was made.

Ben shakes his head. "No, it was that sort of... a blue-green. Aqua, maybe. I'm sure Blaine would know the exact name of it, if we asked him." He actually glances over his shoulder at that, like he's expecting Blaine to be right behind him. But then, that's where he's been all day, hovering over his dad's shoulder, fretting and fussing. It's kind of the same thing Kurt would do, actually. Burt thinks that's why it tugs at him so much, that hovering.

He wonders if Ben ever did that with his old man. Reading between the lines, he guesses that the hovering maybe wouldn't have been welcomed as warmly as it should've been.

"Anyway," Ben says, patting at his legs like he's just itching to shove his hands into his sewn-shut pockets. Burt knows the feeling. "That was his pet project, getting the color just right. Well, that and a few other things; I don't think either of us realized it at the time, but Blaine's very... he's very mechanically minded."

Burt nods, turning his attention back to the car. She really is a pretty thing, all chrome and wide grills and big bumpers. Upholstery on the interiors, not leather, and the seatbelts must've been added in after the fact. He wonders if Ben was the one to have them installed. It seems like the kind of thing he'd think of. "You two worked on this together, right?" he asks, like he hadn't heard it from Blaine months ago, before Blaine and Kurt even started dating. "Like you worked on that car with your dad."

"Grandfather," Ben says, correcting him quietly. "I helped my grandfather with his old Bel Air. Dad didn't... Dad wasn't involved. In that."

"Oh," Burt says, a little embarrassed because he misunderstood, but mostly just... Because on the one hand, this kind of changes what he thought about Ben's relationship with his own father. On the other hand, it kind of makes it make more sense. "I thought... Because you and Blaine were talking about Grandpa Richard, I thought --"

"No, I... I should have explained that," Ben says. He seems a little tense. "Grandpa Richard was Blaine's great-grandfather. He... He passed, when Blaine was very small. But he and I were always very... He was very patient with me, letting me help with the car. I don't know if my father would have..." He almost laughs, but it's a little too bitter to count. "Like I said, Blaine is mechanically-minded; he takes well to this sort of thing. I generally hurt more than I helped. Both with Grandpa's car and with this one."

Ben's gone a little absent, lost in his own thoughts, and it gives Burt a chance to study him, think a few things over. "Bet your grandfather didn't think so," he says, after a little bit.

Ben just shrugs. "My grandfather was very patient with me," he says again, still staring at the hood of the car. He pushes his glasses up, probably because he needs something to fidget with and they're there. "I think Blaine takes after him, a bit. He's very patient. For a teenager, anyway."

"Kurt's not," Burt says; Ben blinks at him for a second, then chuckles. "Well. He has his moments. He's getting there. Anyway, I can't blame him. He's had to wait for a lot of things."

"I'm sure," Ben says, quietly, and there's a rare moment where Burt thinks, just for a second, that they're both of them on the same page. Because it's hard, when your kid just wants to love someone and you just want someone to love them but it feels like it's never gonna happen for them. There's not a parent in the world who wouldn't understand that feeling, the way it hurts when your kid wants something and you just can't give it to them.

Well, maybe a few parents, but they're not in Ben's garage right now. At least, not in the flesh.

There is a certain feeling; Burt's not willing to say that it's a ghost, because he doesn't really believe in that kind of thing, but he can't help but feel like something of Ben's father is kind of still lurking around in the corners. And he knows it's just the memory of the man; that everyone's thinking about him and how he lived and how he died, and that's what's casting this shadow over the rest of the day. Still, though. Burt can't help thinking that it'd be a kindness if he'd just get the hell out of everyone's heads, already.

"Anyway, you did good work," Burt says, reaching out to trace the shining gold-brown of the paint job. It's a good color for a car like this -- not kitschy, not flashy. It's probably pretty close to the color the car was when it was brand new, when someone bought it. Someone's father, maybe. Six seats; it would've been a family car at the time. Someone's dad could have bought it, ferried the wife and kids around in it. Ben's grandfather could've bought it, maybe.

"I didn't, really," Ben says, but he's half-smiling as he pushes his glasses up again. "Most of it was Blaine. Maybe even all of it, really."

"Yeah, well," Burt says, and turns back to the car. "You did good work with that, too."

Ben's quiet for a long time, and Burt can't tell whether he said the right thing or the wrong thing. Finally, he hears, "Someone told me once -- I don't remember the circumstances, exactly -- that it's not uncommon for parents and children to... to grow apart, after a certain age. Because kids need to try things and test their independence, or... But that it was normal, and most of the time, you get close again. When the child is grown up, when they understand a little more, things sort of work themselves out. And it's probably true, for most people. Just not for everyone." Ben takes a deep breath, and Burt thinks back to the day Ben's father died, thinks of Miranda saying _Ben loved his father_ , and he can't help but wince. "I suppose that, after a certain point, I decided it was better not to take any chances."

Burt nods, wishing Kurt wasn't so fussy about buying him suits with the pockets sewn shut. This would be easier if he could just put his hands in his damn pockets. "Probably a good call."

"Mmm." It's not quite an agreeing noise, more just thoughtful. "I suspect it would have gone a little easier if I'd explained myself better. I don't think I did a very good job of it, at the time."

And he's probably right; Burt still remembers the way Blaine had stared at the floor when he'd talked about his dad that day at the shop, looking lonely and kind of lost. But he also remembers the way Blaine had stood by his dad during the funeral, one hand on his shoulder, eyes constantly monitoring for any sign of distress, and he's not totally sure how they got from point A to point B, but then that's not really that important. He's still not totally sure how he and Kurt got from their last fight --the one where Kurt was talking about that Sam kid and Burt started talking about Finn and everything got screwed up -- to where they are now, and that doesn't matter either. The point is that they're there. The rest is just details. "Blaine's a smart kid," Burt says, because he doesn't really know how to say anything else. "He was bound to figure it out sooner or later."

"I'm glad it was sooner, rather than later," Ben says, and it's soft, but utterly sincere.

Burt steps back from the car, reaches out and claps Ben on the shoulder. "I'm sorry. About your father."

Ben just nods. "I am, too," he says.

_This is never something he wanted to happen,_ Miranda had said. Burt still feels kind of like a jackass that he had to be told that, that he didn't just know. But then, there's a lot that he doesn't know about Ben, a lot that he never will know.

But he's okay with not knowing things, sometimes. He's gotten used to it. And anyway, it's not like he can't still _learn_.

"You should take her into the shop sometime," he says, steering Ben back towards the house. He feels a little bad leaving a classic like that uncovered, but she's been through a lot. One night won't hurt anything. "I'd like to get under the hood, see what she's like. Just... you know, not in the suit. Kurt'd have my head."

Ben "hmm"s again, under his breath. "Suits are very serious," he says. "For some stupid reason, I thought Blaine would relax a little bit about these things when he had to wear the uniform every day. I'm not sure why -- obviously, he had to wear the blazer and the tie every day, so he had take even better care of them than he would have otherwise, so of course he --"

Burt turns the lights off as they leave the garage, and closes the door behind them, and thinks that, if there _were_ any ghosts hovering around them when they were looking at that old car, they'd do best to stay in the damn garage, and leave everyone alone for the rest of the night. God knows they've earned it.

 

7\. Ben

 

He's almost a little surprised that the scotch is still where he'd left it, in the cupboard over the stove, next to an old, battered horn of plenty stuffed with plastic grapes. Miranda likes to go through and clear out the debris every year or so, likes to start fresh. She should have thrown this out at least a decade back. Clearly, she's missed this cupboard in her cleaning.

He wonders if it's on purpose. Sometimes these things are, with her.

"Here we go," he says, turning to set the bottle down on the kitchen table; Katie's already pulled out glasses for them. Just two; Kurt's family has gone home (although Kurt himself has stayed behind, presumably because Blaine's going to have to stop looking after Ben at some point and will need someone to look after _him_ ), and everyone else is in bed already or on their way there. Ben has shown his mother to the guest bedroom; he has felt Miranda's kiss on the top of his head and her hands on his shoulders giving him a gentle squeeze before she slipped away upstairs. He has nodded as Blaine explained that he and Kurt were going to go watch a movie, and reached out to pull his son close one last time before he could slip away. He has whispered "Thank you," when Kurt reached out to touch his arm, very gently. And now it is over, and it's just him and Katie and some finely-aged, single-malt scotch.

She picks up the bottle, gives it the once-over. "This is a Dad thing," she says, quietly.

Ben doesn't bother arguing. He's never been much of a drinker anyway; one beer, every now and then, but that's as far as it goes. He owes Burt Hummel a beer, actually; it's something they've talked about a few times now, going out for a beer. He'll have to turn that into some sort of plan. "Yes," he says, quietly, as she pours for the both of them. "It is."

"Well, then." Katie picks up her glass and holds it out; after a few moments, Ben figures out what she's doing and lifts his own. They clink their tumblers together, solemnly. "Cheers."

He feels as though he should say something more, make some kind of real toast. But he can't think of anything to say, so he just nods and takes a sip and immediately has to struggle not to cough it back up. Seriously, it _burns_.

Katie makes a face, but she takes another drink. "I feel like I should have something to say about this," she says, quietly, swirling the whisky in the glass. "Something about... oak barrels, or smoky finishes, or..."

"Peat," Ben suggests, and tries another swallow for himself. It hurts a little less, but it's still not exactly what he'd refer to as _pleasant_. "There's quite a bit of... peat."

"Yes," Katie says, deadpan. "It's very peaty." Then she snickers, and for some reason, that's what finally breaks Ben down; he starts laughing, and then she starts howling, and what started with the two of them sharing a drink at the end of a _very_ long day somehow winds up with the two of them clutching the table in order to keep from falling, wiping tears from their eyes and grinning at each other like idiots. "Oh my _God_ ," Katie groans, setting the glass down and letting her forehead fall to the table. "This is ridiculous."

"I don't even know why Dad got me this," Ben says, staring at his glass. He wonders if he dares take another sip; if Katie makes him laugh again, he'll probably spit it all over her. "I would have been happy with a pen. Or a tie."

Katie blinks at him, head tipping to the side. "What was it for?" she asks. "The whisky, I mean. Christmas, Father's Day --"

Ben smiles a little, remembering. "When I got my tenure," he says, swirling the whisky around and around his glass before taking another sip. It looks so much better than it tastes. Isn't that always the way, though. "Surprised the hell out of me, truthfully. I thought the best I'd get was him saying 'Well, it took you long enough.' Not that he didn't say that, too, because he did, but..." He shrugs and taps at the bottle. "This did take the sting out, a little bit. Even if I never actually drank any of it at the time."

When his hand falls away from the bottle, Katie's lands on top of it, squeezing. "I always thought..." She sighs and takes another drink, a little more this time than before. "I kept waiting for the day that I could start being jealous of you, instead of John. Because you had the family and you had the career, and I thought Dad would... I thought you'd be the one he bragged up, the way he used to talk about John. Then he just stopped talking about all of us. I never understood that."

All Ben can do is shrug. "I don't know if it works that way," he says, quietly. "I don't brag about Blaine's singing because I'm proud of him... I mean, I _do_ , and I _am_ , but I imagine I'd feel the same if he... played football. Or chess. Or wove baskets -- I'm sure he'd make a marvelous basket-weaver, if he chose to. But it wouldn't be the baskets I was proud of, and it's not Blaine's singing, either. I don't really care what he does. Mostly it's just... Blaine."

"But that's you," Katie says, and pats his hand. "Dad was never... You shouldn't compare yourself to him, Ben. Because you're not the same person." She sighs again, pulling back. "Anyway, I don't want to talk about Dad... About what he could have been. Or what he _should_ have been. He wasn't, in the end. And it's just depressing."

"I suppose so," Ben says, and lets the liquor burn down his throat again. Because it is depressing, thinking that his father wouldn't have been proud of him regardless of what he did. That his father could _never_ be proud of him, even if he did everything he was supposed to. He sighs, and tries not to think about it in those terms. After all, sometimes parents and children just didn't understand each other. It didn't mean they couldn't still _love_ each other. Even if Katie doesn't want to hear that yet. "I thought the flowers were nice," he says, after a while. "John's flowers, I mean. Honestly, I'm surprised he even knew where to send them."

Katie shakes her head, finishes off her glass, refills it. When she holds the bottle out to Ben, he places his hand over the top of his glass. No more for him; he wouldn't finish it anyway. "He knew," Katie says, leaning back in her chair and turning away to stare at the cupboards. "I made sure he knew. I told him."

Ben blinks down at his glass for a little bit, and maybe he should have another after all. "Oh," he says, quietly. Because he can't help thinking... Well. The same thing he's been thinking all night. That there's an empty seat at the table, room for one more in their pew, a space left between the people clustered around the grave. A place reserved for someone, for someone who ought to be there, but isn't. And even after all this time, Ben just doesn't know _why_.

"It was never you, Ben," Katie says, softly. "You know that, right? This was never anything to do with you."

She holds the bottle out again, and this time, Ben lets her top off his glass.

"It's ridiculous, really," he says, staring down at the table; he pulls his glass a little closer but doesn't drink, not yet. "I can't even think of anything I could have done, to drive him away. He never... He never took me that seriously. Even when I shoved him out the window that time. Do you remember that? I was horrified, and he just... He just started laughing. All that broken glass, and him sprawled out on the ground, _bleeding_ , and he just..." For some reason, the memory makes Ben chuckle, and Katie smiles at him. "Although he did have a concussion at the time. And he was possibly still a little drunk."

"A little drunk? Ben, he was wasted. Anyway, he still thought it was funny when he sobered up," Katie points out, eyes bright over the rim of her glass. "Probably because you were so traumatized by the whole thing."

Ben tries to shrug it off, but he can't seem to stop himself getting defensive. "I really thought he was dead," he says, quietly. "Just for a second, just before he started laughing, but I looked down at him, and I thought... I thought he was dead. Or paralyzed. Or... or something."

Katie just laughs at him. "Ben," she says. "You were on the _first floor_. He fell maybe three feet. _Maybe_."

"But if he'd fallen _wrong_ ," Ben says, and he can't quite figure out why he still cares about this, because it was years ago, but still. He'd lost his temper before that night, and he still loses it occasionally, but he's only been that angry once in his life, and it still terrifies him a little. "Or if he'd... Katie, he'd just walked away from a car crash. God only knows what kind of injuries he could have had, and I --"

"Ben, he was barely scratched," Katie says, and she's not smiling anymore; her eyes are worried, and she reaches out for Ben's hand.

He pulls away, not quite ready for whatever she's going to give him. "I didn't _know_ that, Katie," he says, and it comes out a little higher than it should, a little more hysterical, and Katie sighs and stretches across the table, seizing Ben's hand before he can slip away again. "I didn't know, and I still... I shouldn't have fought with him when he came home. I shouldn't have let him borrow the Bel Air in the first place. I shouldn't have --"

"You _didn't_ ," Katie says, firmly, gripping his hand. "Remember? You didn't let him borrow the Bel Air. He asked if he could borrow _your_ car. You said your keys were in your coat pocket. Honestly, I don't even think you knew the keys to the Bel Air were in there, at that point."

"Of course I knew," Ben says, but he can't meet her eyes when he says it because he knows that's not really true. He doesn't really remember that much about the day they scattered his grandfather's ashes; it was all... it was all kind of a lot to deal with. "I put them there, Katie."

"Still doesn't mean you wanted John to have them," she reminds him, her voice quiet. "Anyway, he said he wanted _your_ car, and the Bel Air wasn't yours. It was Blaine's -- he just wasn't old enough to have it, yet. But it was his, not yours. We all knew that." When Ben finally manages to look up, he sees Katie smiling at him, just a little bit. "And we all knew how you were, with Blaine. John took that car knowing that there'd be hell to pay when you found out. Sometimes, I wonder if that wasn't the whole point. If he wasn't just poking you to see what you'd do. He was always good at that. Like Dad."

Ben shudders. "Can we _not_ , please," he says, quietly. Because he respects that Katie is angry; he really does. And he knows that she's got her reasons, but he just... He just can't. Not right now.

Katie's thumb strokes over his hand. "You're right," she says, very gently. "They were very nice flowers."

"They were," he says, and sips his drink, and focuses very, very hard on not crying any more. "I thought the baby's breath was a good touch."

Even when Katie starts laughing again, she doesn't let go of his hand.

 

8\. Blaine

 

It's the ache in his shoulders that reminds him.

Because otherwise, he's fine. Better than fine; perfect, even. His head is tucked under Kurt's chin, his cheek pressed to Kurt's chest, and Kurt's arms are wrapped around him and he is comfortable, warm under the blankets and safe in Kurt's embrace, but his _shoulders_. His shoulders ache, the right one more than the left, because that's the side he carried the coffin on, only reaching up with his left hand to stabilize it. And that gets him thinking about the coffin, and the wet grass and the fallen leaves, rain speckling his father's glasses, and Blaine shudders with the remembered chill, pushes his face into the soft warmth of Kurt's neck and wonders if he could just stay here for the rest of the day. For the rest of his life, maybe.

Kurt mumbles something soothing and pushes his hand into the hair at the nape of Blaine's neck, holding him into place, and Blaine just wants to stay, but he can't. Because he's not done. Not yet.

Yes, the funeral is over, and his grandfather is buried, and that's one thing. But Grandma and Aunt Katie are still there; they won't be leaving until Monday. And Dad wants to take Aunt Katie out to the farm, to look at some things and see what she thinks, and no one really knows what Grandma wants to do just yet, with the condo and everything, and Dad's probably going to have to fly out to Arizona sometime in the next few weeks to look at that, and then talk to the lawyer, and maybe he'll have to go to court while he's down there, to get everything settled and all the terms worked out. And even when that's all been settled and Dad is home again, it's still not going to be over. Because then there'll be Thanksgiving to figure out, and Christmas and New Year's and Father's Day and Blaine's graduation and all of these things, and Grandpa won't be around for any of them, and Blaine's pretty sure they'll get used to it eventually, but he also knows that it's going to take a while.

And maybe there's not much that Blaine can do to fix any of that, but that doesn't mean he gets to give up, either. Because it's not over. It probably never will be.

Blaine basks in the comfort of Kurt's embrace a little bit longer, then presses a kiss into the skin of Kurt's neck and pulls himself away. Dad was staying up with Aunt Katie last night, and both Mom and Grandma like to sleep in when they can. If Blaine heads down right now, he might be able to get started on breakfast before everyone else wakes up. It's not much, not with everything else that has to be taken care of, with everything that has to get done. But it's as good a place as any to start.

(And as Kurt blinks himself awake, frowning sleepily and mumbling for Blaine to "just gimme minute," Blaine is comforted by the knowledge that he's not starting off all alone.)


End file.
